


let's start over

by leeds



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Boys Kissing, Drarry, Enemies to Lovers, First Time, Gay Draco Malfoy, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Porn With Plot, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Smut, drunk!Ron, pansy and hermione make very brief appearances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 07:22:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19389262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leeds/pseuds/leeds
Summary: “‘I wouldn’t be surprised if that tension between you two turned sexual,’ Ron said to Harry, slurring his words.”There may be some weight to those words.Or: They’re back at Hogwarts after the war, and Harry and Malfoy have never had a real conversation. Harry's afraid that if they did, he might like him. (Spoiler: he does.)





	let's start over

**Author's Note:**

> this is my second drarry fic, and I greatly prefer this one to the first - but please check out that one, too!
> 
> btw: harry and draco do not use protection in this fic. don't be like them. use protection! have safe sex! and have a wonderful day xx

“I wouldn’t be surprised if that tension between you two turned sexual,” Ron said to Harry, slurring his words.

Harry went rigid, and turned his head to look at where Malfoy was slumped in a chair across the room, braiding Pansy’s hair with nimble fingers, apologizing when he accidentally pulled it. Harry's stomach churned.

All of the eighth years were getting piss drunk in the middle of the night in the eighth year common room and Harry was trying to regulate Ron’s drinking, but it seemed he had allowed him to drink a little _too_ much.

Harry thought that this drunken night would be better than a night plagued by nightmares, but the feeling in his stomach told him that his night was beginning to turn into one.

“That’s very funny, Ron,” Harry said.

“I’m serious!” Ron exclaimed. “We’ve always hated him because he was a right git, spewing all that pureblood bullshit and being on the side of You-Know-Who, but that was all kind of a show, wunnit?”

Harry didn’t say a word, an expression of annoyance on his face.

“Wasn’t it? You said so yourself during the trials—”

“Yes, I know,” Harry said through gritted teeth. If Ron spoke any louder, Malfoy would be able to hear them from across the room.

“Tell me this, oh Chosen One,” Ron began, and Harry looked at him incredulously. Ron never took the piss out of him like this. “Do you really believe that Draco Malfoy is still the enemy?”

“No,” Harry said firmly. He didn’t. He pitied the git more than anything and it was infuriating.

“Then what is he to you? Because, mate, the flirting is a little confusing—”

“We do _not_ flirt.” Harry’s blood boiled, his hands sweaty.

Ron looked at Harry with an unamused expression.

“The other day he said ‘Nice hair, Potter,’”—Ron imitated Malfoy’s posh intonation—“right after you got a haircut, I might add, which—why would your ‘enemy’ notice if you got a haircut? Sounds kind of suspicious to me—and you, thinking it was an insult, said ‘Not everyone can be as perfect as you, Malfoy’—what the fuck was that, mate?”

“I meant it as an insult!” Harry said angrily.

“You thought calling him perfect was an insult?”

Harry rolled his eyes.

“It’s called _sarcasm_.”

“I know what sarcasm is and it didn’t sound sarcastic to me. And let’s not forget about that dream you had—”

Harry clamped his hand over Ron’s mouth.

“You swore we would never talk about that again,” he seethed, and removed his hand.

“Well, it’s relevant,” Ron muttered. There was a beat of silence between them. “And I don’t think it’s normal to dream about your enemy fucking y—”

Harry covered his mouth again.

“Merlin’s _fucking_ beard, Ron,” said Harry, his heart hammering in his chest. “Why are you so concerned about my relationship with Malfoy?”

Ron pried his hand off.

“I’m just connecting the dots, mate,” Ron explained. “You both constantly wanting each other’s attention, you saving his life, him lying to protect you, your bloody _brooding_ when you found out he fucked that bloke on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team...”

Harry grimaced and hid his burning face in his hands.

“It’s alright, mate, no judgment here,” Ron said softly with a hand on Harry’s shoulder, as if he was talking to a child. Harry knew he was trying to be comforting, but it irritated him.

“I never said you were right,” Harry snapped. Ron didn’t even flinch. He was used to Harry’s stubbornness after so many years. "And saving him has nothing to do with how I feel about him. Just because I didn't let him die in the Fiendfyre that doesn't mean—"

Harry's rant was cut off by a scream from the girls’ dormitories. It shocked the common room into silence.

Harry and Ron looked at each other. They knew it was Hermione. Her nightmares were some of the worst among them.

Malfoy stood and shouted, “Weasley!” with a finger pointed towards Hermione’s room, which Ron hurried to.

Hermione and Malfoy's hatred for each other made an unexpected turn for the better after he took it upon himself to apologize to her for all the nasty things he'd said and done. According to Hermione, they had 'an emotional, productive talk that put things into perspective.' Harry thought she was too forgiving, but Hermione assured him that Malfoy 'wishes he could start over and do things differently' and that he deserved her forgiveness. She even insisted that Harry talk to him as well _._ Seeing things from Malfoy’s point of view would be beneficial, she said. It would make him rethink their history. 

And Harry had thought of it, of sitting down with Malfoy, alone, and talking. No _Sectumsempra_ s, no insults, no holding back. But, if he was being honest, he was afraid. Afraid of change, afraid of what they would become if Harry fully forgave him. Hell, if Hermione could change her mind about him, Harry definitely would. 

Harry sank further into the couch, drowning in his circling thoughts.

What Hermione didn't know was that underneath Harry's dislike for Malfoy (it wasn't quite hatred—he knew Malfoy wasn't evil) was an unmistakeable desire that had been lying low for Merlin knew how long. Harry first recognized it soon after they returned to Hogwarts: they had all their classes together, and sometimes Harry caught Malfoy looking at him, and it made Harry's chest tight every time. Soon, he found himself wanting Malfoy's eyes on him, and he hated himself for it. _Out of all people, why him?_ What made it worse were the dreams, the first of which he told Ron about and almost checked himself into the Hospital Wing for. And then of course Malfoy had to torture him by going and fucking that Ravenclaw bloke, which the whole school talked about for a solid week...

The cushion beside him sank as someone sat down. Harry knew who it was just by seeing the material of his smart trousers.

Harry threw his head back and sighed.

“What are you doing here, Malfoy?”

Malfoy scoffed.

“Here in the common room? In case you’ve forgotten, I also live here—”

“Here on this couch. Next to me.” Harry turned his head toward Malfoy. The blonde was angled toward him, one of his legs folded, and their eyes met.

“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t a little drunk and if Pansy wasn’t a little bitch, Potter.”

Harry had no idea what to make of that, but didn’t dwell on it.

“You can call me Harry, you know,” Harry said, Hermione’s voice in his head telling him that he should at least _try_ to be friendly.

“I commend you for your civility,” Malfoy said, sounding mocking, “but I’ll only call you by your first name if you call me by mine, _Harry_.”

Hearing Malf— _Draco_ say his name in that posh drawl of his flooded Harry with adrenaline. It brought Harry's mind back to his dreams, where Draco said his name plenty of times, with a heat that was so different than that of their insults.

“Fine, _Draco_ ,” Harry said, maintaining eye contact. Harry thought he saw a glint in Draco’s eyes. Or maybe he just needed a new prescription.

“Is it true you’re not a git anymore?” Harry asked. Draco shifted—Harry thought he may have moved just a fragment closer.

“Oh, I’m still a git.” He leaned his head against the couch so that he paralleled Harry. “I’m just not an ignorant git anymore.”

The Hufflepuff on Harry’s other side was a little too close for comfort, so Harry shifted an inch away from him and an inch towards Draco, who must’ve read the movement differently than Harry intended it, for the Slytherin’s fingers were suddenly at the bottom of Harry’s oversized sweater, lightly toying with the soft, bunched knit.

“What were you ignorant of?” Harry asked softly. He didn’t have to talk loudly when they were so close to each other.

“Lots of things,” Draco replied. “The unimportance of blood…feelings…”

“Feelings? What do you mean?”

“Well, Harry..." There was that feeling again. Like stars inside his chest. "You can only pretend you like girls for so long.”

Harry swallowed, and was embarrassed by the way Draco watched him, noticing every movement.

“Good,” Harry said. “I mean!—Good for you.” He flushed a deep red. “For…knowing. And accepting yourself.”

Draco’s cheeks turned pink; he nodded against the cushion. He didn’t speak more, maybe because he was embarrassed, Harry thought.

“I wish I could do that,” Harry said, and internally smacked himself. Silences made him uncomfortable, and he ended up saying things he meant to keep in his head.

Draco quirked an eyebrow.

“How so?”

Draco moved even closer, disguising the movement as an adjustment of his silk button-up.

“Well, I’m sure you understand it when I say I haven’t had much time to figure out who I am in between trying to defeat Voldemort—”

Draco flinched.

“Sorry,” Harry said, placing a comforting hand on his leg.

“‘S alright,” Draco practically whispered. “I do get it. For me, being in the presence of… _him_ —it made me think. About everything.” The look in Draco’s eyes, which avoided his, scared Harry. In that moment he could see how the war had broken him. “I thought about what I’d want to do if I were to die tomorrow, who I’d fuck.” His eyes flickered up to Harry’s. “But also who I’d start over with.”

“Draco…”

“Could you do me a favor and pretend I’m not, well, _me_ right now?” Draco asked, and Harry just looked at him, at the fading white scars on his face and the pink of his lips and cheeks—the only evidence that he drank that night. He felt like he couldn’t breathe in the small space between them.

It didn’t happen quickly—Draco’s every move was careful and gentle, as if he was giving Harry time to stop him if he wanted to. After everything that happened to him, Draco knew that having a choice was of the utmost importance.

Draco’s fingers brushed the side of Harry’s face before spreading flat against his jaw. He searched his eyes for any sign of protest, but there was none. Harry just closed them and let the inevitable happen: Draco kissed him. In a room full of people, Draco Malfoy was kissing Harry Potter, and the latter felt any remnants of uncertainty about the Slytherin melt away. Harry could only think about Draco’s tongue against his and how he tasted like a sugary Muggle liqueur someone brought back from their summer in the U.S.

Their kiss turned filthy fast, and, by Merlin, Ron was right.

Draco broke the kiss and brought his mouth to Harry’s ear.

“I have a bottle of some of the best goblin wine in my room,” he whispered.

Harry squirmed in place, his cock growing harder by the second.

“That’s nice, if we ever get to drinking it,” Harry whispered back. Draco pulled back to look at Harry’s face, and his startled expression turned into one of lust.

Draco stood confidently and held out his hand to Harry, who took it and allowed himself to be led to Draco’s room with more than a few pairs of eyes watching them.

Harry didn’t know what he expected—an abundance of green and black, maybe—but it certainly wasn’t what Draco’s room actually looked like. Harry thought that they accidentally stepped into Luna’s room for a second before he saw the pressed trousers and button-ups hanging in the open closet.

“You have a rainbow quilt on your bed,” Harry thought out loud.

“That I do,” Draco laughed, the laugh warm and uncruel, and Harry loved the sound. “My mum made it after I came out to her. Best thing that ever happened to her, I think. Having a gay son is a great distraction from your husband going to Azkaban. But enough about me,” he said, and leaned down to kiss the bespectacled boy. “There’s something else I want on my bed,” Draco said against his lips.

Harry slung his arms around Draco’s neck before jumping up and wrapping his legs around his waist. Draco’s hands went to his arse, and Harry was surprised by how much it turned him on. He’d never been dominated like this before, and felt that maybe it was what was missing in the past.

Draco held onto him tightly and walked them to his bed, where he laid Harry onto his back and kissed him as he skillfully unbuttoned his shirt.

When Draco’s shirt was completely off and Draco pulled away to shove his trousers down, Harry looked at him like he was a golden idol. Seeing the taut muscles of Draco’s stomach shot a feeling of excitement through his body and made something click in his brain. _So this is how I’m supposed to feel._

He was supposed to feel like this when Ginny took her top off. Instead, he had felt underwhelmed and managed to convince himself that it wasn’t supposed to excite him. Now here he was, his skin practically buzzing, because his ex-nemesis, a _boy_ , was shirtless in front of him.

Harry stripped down to his pants, not daring to waste any time, especially not when Draco looked at him like that.

Draco crawled over him and lowered himself between Harry’s legs, and a shiver ran through Harry's body when their hard cruxes met. Draco kissed him and smiled against his lips as he teasingly rocked his hips forward. His mouth then went to Harry’s neck to work at marking him with blooms of purple and red.

“Are you a virgin?” Draco asked.

“Er, yeah. Can you tell?” Harry replied, his face red.

“No, just didn’t think so. I kept track of you pretty well.”

Now _that_ was a statement that Harry didn't even want to begin to process. If he did, he might come in his pants. Instead, he focused on Draco moving down to lick and suck at his nipple, which made his back arch involuntarily. Draco kissed his parted lips.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Draco asked, cool, smiling grey eyes meeting green.

“Only if you do,” Harry breathed out, and lifted his head to join their lips.

Draco's fingers teased the waistband of Harry's briefs.

“ _Off_ ,” Harry ordered. Draco obeyed, and watched as Harry’s length sprung free. Draco licked his lips.

“Harry Potter is well-hung,” Draco said, nodding. He made a show of pushing down his own boxer briefs, and Harry stared at his equally hard cock. He had to restrain himself from begging for it.

Harry didn’t know where to put his hands when Draco crawled over him again, so he settled them on Draco’s back. Without pulling away from Harry’s lips, Draco brought his hand back to lead Harry’s hand lower. Harry followed his lead and gripped onto his arse with both hands, and Draco moaned as Harry licked at his tongue.

Draco lowered himself, and Harry moaned embarrassingly when their cocks bumped together. Harry felt his pulse everywhere as Draco's cock slid against his.

“Wanna fuck you,” Draco said, already panting.

“Please,” Harry begged.

Draco reached for the bottle on his nightstand that Harry had assumed was hand sanitizer and pumped the lube onto his fingers.

"It'll be cold," Draco said, and Harry tried to breathe steadily as the tip of Draco's finger found his puckered hole and slowly entered. It hurt, but the pain subsided as Draco took his time loosening him up. Soon Harry began to squirm, needing _more_ than the three fingers inside of him, and then they were gone and Draco's searing length was breaching him, filling him up.

Harry clenched around Draco when he brushed against a sensitive spot inside of him. Draco could tell that he hit his prostate, and made sure to hit the same spot with every thrust.

Harry whined, pleasure shooting through his body like lightning.

Draco pounded into him, and Harry’s cock leaked precum onto his stomach. They tried to kiss, but couldn't get enough air, so they breathed against each other's lips, Harry’s fingers tangled in Draco’s soft, white-blonde hair.

“Mmm, you like it when I fuck you rough, Potter?” Draco growled into Harry’s ear, and Harry cried out Draco’s name as he came, a white-hot heat filling his body.

Draco continued to pound into him, panting.

"I do," Harry managed to utter. Draco looked at him questioningly.

"What?"

Harry pulled his head down so that he could whisper into his ear. "I like it when you fuck me rough."

Draco came then, and held himself inside of Harry as his orgasm rolled through him in waves. He pulled out slowly and collapsed on top of Harry, his skin tacky, before muttering a cleaning spell over them (wandlessly, to Harry’s amazement).

Harry held him and traced shapes on his back and shoulder.

“Did you just draw a heart?” Draco asked, cracking an eye open to look at Harry.

“Maybe,” Harry muttered.

“ _Gryffindor_ ,” Draco sighed, and craned his neck to lock their lips. Harry felt Draco trace a heart on his chest, and it felt like a promise. 

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! kudos and comments are appreciated!


End file.
